Brown Paper Packages
by Z. Alexander
Summary: To remind you of everything we could have had. The tears and fears and love we might have shared. -And it's all clawing at the insides of his empty chest.-


This one's completely and utterly canonverse. Roxene is my second favorite pairing, and this is a tribute to that cracktastic bit of excellence. Also, it was inspired by the Sound of Music; the movie, to be specific when all the kids huddle around Maria because they're scared of a thunderstorm and they sing about their favorite things.

Note: I did a sort of weird thing with Larxene's name. It's pretty easy to figure out, but I made her 'story' a little...screwy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, and that's okay.

* * *

**Brown Paper Packages**

* * *

It was only a couple of months.

Just a couple of months, telling secrets behind everyone's backs. Just a couple of months, meeting in their special place, dancing with weapons and tongues and blood.

It shouldn't have hurt, because they told him he didn't have a heart. And he'd spent six nights alone, simply pressing his hand to his chest and waiting for that little drummer boy inside his chest to tap out a rhythm, but he was always disappointed.

But still it hurt in ways he couldn't understand.

* * *

Her name was actually Kitty, before she lost her heart. Well, Katherine. She got her 'clients' after-hours at the speakeasies, as long as it wasn't raining because she hated storms. She was afraid of thunder, and on those cold rainy nights she huddled under the awning with her world, her _everything._ Lenare.

They wrapped their arms around each other and breathed in the scents of electricity and cigarettes and moonshine, but most of all they breathed in the scents of each other's breath and ate secrets out of each other's mouths.

They licked each other's wounds and hated the very people who made it possible for them to live in that filthy place, but had to love them because they made it possible to have each other.

Lenare always told her she should get herself a good man, but Kitty knew no man could possibly be as good.

The Heartless came on one of those stormy nights, only showing when those bolts skewered the grounds as if sent by God himself. Lenare was shivering and coughing, a dry, raspy rattle which shook Kitty to her very bones.

She brandished the only utensil they had – a knife, utterly useless unless they found an apple or hard bread. She braved the storm, trying not to flinch as the rain crashed on her head and thunder made her ears ring. The woman she tried to protect called out – said something she couldn't hear over one of those hellish crashes.

The Heartless got them both, but only Kitty woke up.

* * *

Their first secret was a smile, and even though it wasn't his it belonged to him anyway. In the worst possible place, the worst possible time, she told him a secret with her pretty lips and he tried to return it but his face wouldn't respond to his wishes.

The smile turned into a smirk and she grabbed his outstretched hand.

"You did good, XIII," she said, and that was the second secret. It wasn't like her to dish out praise, and something inside warmed (not jumped, though he wished it had) for just a moment. It was like tea on a cold day and their hands fit each other's better than their gloves.

He pulled her up and told her with his eyes that even though they were the bottom of the barrel, they had each other.

She smacked him, hard, and although he watched her storm off with his hand to his cheek (twitching violently, because no matter what she did, it was _shocking), _he was able to return her secret.

He'd just have to wait until next time to show her.

* * *

She always let him come back, and she didn't know why. He was a year younger than she was, or at least he _would _be if they were Real. He had the face of a child, the body of a god, and the eyes of the devil; it made her teeth clench and her eyes narrow because she knew XIII was the one Lenare had always talked about.

A good man was not always a perfect one, but he would respect a woman and treat her accordingly. In a place where existence depended on strength and extermination, respect wasn't about dates and smooth touches and polite conversation; respect was about giving your all, no matter what, no matter if she might die.

He gave that, and she sometimes hated him as much as any Nobody could, because there _weren't _good men anywhere. Lenare was the strongest memory she had – the one that kept her going, the one that made it possible to destroy all the pretty things which reminded her of those cold nights and secrets they couldn't voice.

But he kept coming back, and she let him, because maybe – just _maybe – _she would figure it out. And then she could kill him, whether it angered the Superior or not.

* * *

He saw snakes in her eyes and angel wings on her back, and he never told her because she already knew. Sometimes he won, and she looked up at him from the floor with her snake-eyes and he wanted to close them forever. But he never did.

Sometimes XII won, and he looked up at her and saw poison, venom which could kill in an instant. It was a thrill, but it soon became commonplace because she never _killed _him. He liked playing with her, liked dancing with her, because sometimes she spit lightning and sent electric thrills through his body.

But he wanted more. _Needed _more. A Nobody wasn't supposed to need anything, except perhaps a heart, but something inside crawled through his stomach and clawed the insides of his empty chest, as if the skin over his ribs held it back.

The dam broke when their fight ended in a draw; he was lying on his back, his Keyblades at her throat and hips; she was above, knives against his jugular. She told another secret, this time with a laugh he hadn't heard before. It was caramelized beauty and he wanted to suck it into his chest but he couldn't move his head.

She told him that when she looked into his eyes, she saw the sea as she'd seen it before her parents kissed the lightning and the storm took their lives away.

He told her that when he looked into her eyes, he could see the universe just before it exploded and she poured that caramelized beauty into his mouth and made sure with her tongue that he swallowed it all.

* * *

He was nothing like Lenare. Lenare was gentle and sweet, everything she gave up when she stopped being Kitty. XIII was swift and rough and carried an air of stoic melancholy, which intrigued her more than it annoyed her. He flew at her with key-shaped wings, and it was always the best if they were injured.

Only he was allowed to hurt her and get away with it, but it was their secret just like their kisses were secret and their dances were secret and their enmity was a lie. XIII had VIII and she had XI, but they were only invincible if they were Them.

She never told him because he already knew, just like he knew where to place his lips and his hips and his fingertips.

These were a just few of her favorite things.

* * *

Before she left, he told her with his eyes that even though they were the bottom of the barrel, they had each other.

She didn't speak but she told him he was right when she bit his tongue and forced his own sweet, dark, sickly blood down his throat. It was like kissing a demon on the roof of a church, thrilling and beautiful and rightly wrong or wrongly right.

* * *

She was a woman and a sadist, but she was not stupid. She could stay or she could run, but either way she would end in smoky wisps of black Nothing and she wanted to go down fighting, just like before.

She boxed their last precious secret and wrapped it in the brown paper they found in an unused washroom in Hollow Bastion. She put it all together with threads from the hem of her coat, and dropped it through the darkness into their secret place.

She would go down fighting, just like before, and Kitty would go away for good this time.

* * *

Axel came back alone and Roxas let him stay alone for a little longer, because he shared secrets with a woman he would never again dance with. His Keyblades mourned the loss of her blood and that monster in his stomach mourned the loss of her lips and his skin mourned the loss of her violence, but his chest was cold and still, as always.

Hollow Bastion Chapel was empty but for a small box wrapped in paper towels and held together with black thread. The white paper belonged to the blonde girl in the white dress, and the green crayon told him what he'd seen in her eyes all along.

_To remind you of everything we could have had. The tears and fears and love we might have shared._

He didn't have to open it to know it was empty, because it was only filled with violence and electricity which clawed at the insides of his empty chest.


End file.
